In London you're never far from a rat, as every Londoner knows. My latest for Cif begins:
First there were faint scratchings and then some serious, badass clawing at the door. At least, it sounded like the door – the kitchen sink unit cupboard door – so that was what I kicked to make the evil creature go away. Too scared to open it, I swore a lot instead: "Shit, what a big bastard that must be." Such is the effect that rats can have. They turn socialised urban humans into inflamed yet cowering beasts. And when I spotted a damaged baby of the species crawling unsteadily across the floor my horror was complete. Fortunately, my six year-old was with me. "Oh look, Daddy!" she cried. "A baby mouse!"
Eek! Now read on.
